


Ease the Dawn (alternate ending to Part 1)

by Inforapoundd



Series: Ease The Dawn [3]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Love Confessions, Non-Canon Relationship, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:22:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27010411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inforapoundd/pseuds/Inforapoundd
Summary: This is an alternate ending to Part 1 Ease the Dawn; a different outcome following Ivar's accident on the lake. A story where their closeness and need for intimacy are explored while still in camp and Aethelswith still Ivar's captive. Some scenes will have similar elements but this story follows a different path leading to a very different outcome as Aethelswith and Ivar learn just how much they need each other.Part 1 Ease the Dawn is posted as part of the series. Please remember that it was my very first piece of writing.
Relationships: Ivar (Vikings)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Ease The Dawn [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1419736
Comments: 11
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

Ivar's limp body was being dragged, his head slumped forward and his heavy limbs jostled as Hvitserk, and another warrior named Loni hauled him toward the tent. Heaving him along, both men grunted under the awkward weight of his slack body.

Rushing forward, Brana and Gussr ran to help, stopping to listen to Hvitserk's urgent orders. Paralyzed in place, Aethelswith watched the horrific scene before her. Unable to hold back, her eyes filled with tears and she cried out, pleading for an explanation as to what had happened.

The men dragged Ivar through the tent door, heaving him onto his bed and Loni rounded the far side to help Hvitserk roll him onto his back. As if moving in slow motion, Aethelswith approached the foot of the bed and scanned his wet clothes and his ash coloured skin void entirely of colour... of life. His lips were deep violet and his eyes were peacefully closed.

"Is he dead?" she covered her mouth with her hand, feeling the burn of another wave of tears in her eyes.

Crouching forward, Hvitserk brought his ear to Ivar's mouth before dropping down and pressing his ear to his chest. His eyes darted side to side listening for sounds of life. Glancing up to Aethelswith, he nodded.

"He is little dead. Little heart. Little breathe," he answered in a thick accent, using the best english he knew.

Pushing through the tent flap, Brana and Gussr hurried in, carrying large rocks; Brana held one, while Gussr managed four. They placed them into the crackling fire and fast words began flowing between the men. Aethelswith's eyes dashed between them, hopelessly attempting to understand. Nodding, Brana approached Aethelswith, tipping her head close.

"Ivar insisted they cut across the frozen lake instead of following the shore back to camp. To save time and return before dark." Pausing, Brana listened to the men continuing to talk. "It sounds like the weight of his chariot broke the ice and he went into the water." She paused again. "It took time to get him out. The ice kept cracking. Ivar's horse and chariot were lost."

Reaching forward, she squeezed Aethelswith's arm. "The Prince is dying from the cold water, My Lady."

The ghastly image of Ivar thrashing in the broken ice flashed through Aethelswith's mind. Her eyes widened and she shook her head unable to process what Brana had told her.

"We must warm him," she whispered, "quickly."

Nodding, Brana returned to the fire and began laying sheets of thick canvas down flat on the ground, layering one on top of the other.

Rounding the bed, Aethelswith stood beside Hvitserk.

"We must undress him."

Hvitserk raised his eyebrows clearly not understanding.

"Remove his wet clothes," she explained, using her arms to motion.

Brana, glancing over her shoulder from the fire, rushed a fast translation for the men. Hvitserk's expression went slack and he nodded his agreement.

Crawling onto her knees beside Ivar, Aethelswith reached for the bindings on his legs. Not wearing his braces in the chariot, his legs were bound tight by leather ties in three places. Her shaky hands fumbled with the first knot and Loni leaned in, motioning for her to move, and pushed a knife under the tie above his knees, cutting them with a crisp snap. Loni set to work on the others moi before he slipped his knife down the front of Ivar's pants. Turning the blade up, he sliced the fabric from Ivar’s groin down to his boot making a smooth ripping sound while Hvitserk started on Ivar's chest armour.

Gussr returned to the tent wearing oversized thick gloves that Aethelswith recognized as the ones blacksmiths wore. Approaching, he quickly exchanged words with Brana before reaching into the fire and picking up one of the rocks. Lowering it onto the center of the linens spread on the ground, Brana wrapped the edges of the fabric around the rock, holding her hands still on either side as if gauging the heat. She nodded to Gussr and he picked up the bundle and headed to the bed.

Moving to her own bed, Aethelswith quickly gathered her fur and wool blanket and rushed back to the men, stopping in place at the sight before her. Void of all signs of life, Ivar lay flat, naked before all of them, looking like a corpse. The wrapped rock was placed high in the crook of his arm near his faint beating heart.

Taking a step closer, Aethelswith’s eyes raked over his immense torso, large shoulders and muscular chest. A small trail of dark hair stretched from his navel down to his displayed member and beneath his groin were his legs. Their appearance was shocking; thin and scrawny without any of the muscle of his upper body. His knees were enlarged and knobby, his thighs bowed with thins whispers of calves attached to misshaped ankles and puffy, swollen feet. The rounded soles, reminded Aethelswith of the feet of a baby with no defined arch or flat bottom, like an adult's from years of carrying the body's weight.

The form of his legs was not the only startling sight, it was their colour, causing her to gasp. They were grey, nearly blue with cold skin that looked like casing on uncooked meat. Biting the flesh on the inside of her cheek, she looked away fighting the urge to be sick.

"No," she cried to herself, shaking her head. She could not let him die like this, vulnerable and exposed, his chest barely moving with his shallow, sporadic breath.

Pushing past the men, she threw the wool blanket over his body, smoothing it around him, before adding and straightening the fur. Grabbing Ivar's furs from the ground beside, she piled those on top of the others. Brana lifted the stack of blankets at the foot of the bed and Gussr placed three more wrapped rocks around him.

Moving a stool from the table, Hvitserk dropped it beside the bed and sat, talking quickly to Loni and Gussr. Nodding, they hurried out of the tent following his orders.

Standing awkwardly at the end of the bed, Aethelswith just stared down at Ivar, waiting.

"Is he still breathing?" she asked quietly, looking over at Hvitserk.

Seeming to understand, he leaned forward hovering his ear over Ivar's mouth. Sitting back on the stool, he looked up.

"Small," he answered again in english.

The feeling of helplessness forced her to pace the small area in the tent, clutching her hands in front of her. Circling back and forth, she watched Brana heat the new load of rocks. Wanting to do more, she stepped back to the bed and dropped to kneel on the grass and began rubbing Ivar's legs through the layers and layers of blankets.

All this time, she thought, sharing one room and here she was running her hands over the most guarded part of his body. She nearly laughed at the horridness of the entire situation as if it could not be real. How could it be real?

Pulling back the furs to add another rock, Brana gasped and Aethelswith lurched over to see. White... his legs were white as bone and his feet had turned a deep blue with barely recognizable black toes. Hvitserk stood, grimacing as he bent closer to look and launched into Norse, shaking his head as he spoke to Brana.

"What is it? Please tell me." Aethelswith looked expectantly to Brana.

"Ivar's blood does not pass through his legs as well as it does the rest of him." Frowning, Brana looked back to the bed. "They may not warm."

Pushing herself up to stand, Aethelswith again stared down at Ivar. Tossing her shall onto the bed, she reached for the laces at her bust and began to untie and open the front of her dress; both Hvitserk and Brana watched her clearly confused.

"I will not sit and watch him freeze," she murmured, bringing each knee up and unstrapping her leather boots, pushing them off at the heels.

Unsure of what to say, Hvitserk stepped back from the bed, allowing her more space.

The cold air hit her skin as she let her dress fall to her feet leaving her standing in only her thin, sheer slip. Stepping around to the side of the bed, Hvitserk backed up further, knocking into Ivar's wooden table. Pulling back the heavy furs, she climbed into the bed beside him, sliding down his side and gasping as her skin made contact with his frigid body.

Ivar, she thought, the most powerful, fiery man she had ever known, now ice-cold. Shuddering, she closed her eyes remembering the heat that emanated from his large hand and sweet mouth the night she cut her thumb cleaning the fish.

Exhaling shakily, she looked up at his peaceful, pale face and slid her arm across his stomach, pulling herself closer against his body. Positioning her legs across his frozen ones, she pulled herself partially over him, resting her cheek on his cold broad chest. Taking another deep breath, she exhaled loudly, holding him as tight as her strength would allow.

Never did she believe she would be this close to him, a man she thought could never be hurt. She sighed loudly against his skin thinking that he was, in fact, human, made of flesh and blood like anyone else. Not the invincible, immortal she had built him up in her mind to be. Closing her eyes, she prayed; she prayed and she prayed. To her god and once through, she prayed to his.

She was aware that the tent flap opened and closed many times and that, at some point, the furs had been pulled back and careful hands had shifted her legs to replace the stones. She did not care who was in the tent or how long she had been there. Laying still, she closed her mind to the world and focused only on the sound of her breath and the slow beat of his tired heart, willing it to strengthen. Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump... following him into the darkness, she drifted off to sleep.

—

Looking down at her bare feet standing on ice, she shifted her toes unable to feel the burn of its cold. Disorientated, she looked up and scanned her surroundings. She was alone, a short distance into a large clearing with tall frosted trees forming a heavy guard around the frozen lake she was on. The light was muted and the shadows from the forest were heavy, telling her it was that point in time between night and early morning. Large soft flakes of snow floated down through the air at a speed too gentle to be real. The utter silence buzzed in her ears and a huff from ahead snapped her from her daze.

A gasp slipped from her lips as she looked through the mist and across the ice. Standing in the center of the lake was a magnificent buck, broad and imperial, proudly holding high its enormous antlers. She was no huntress, but she could see fourteen points on it's large rack. He was impressive, terrifying and beautiful and seemed to be watching her. It had no reason to fear her and yet it seemed guarded.

He huffed again and his warm breath shot fog from his nose as he he jerked his head forward with a snort. Shaking the mange of hair on his neck, he straightened, again standing tall and continued to assess her.

Tilting her head to one side, she watched him back, unsure if he was sending a message and wondering how such a majestic creature had evaded death to reach such a size. His sheer scale and immense rack would be the obsession of any man who had ever held a weapon but his evasive ways were surely his method of escaping a violent end.

Suddenly, he whined and dipped his horns, snorting loudly making her think that she should run away, but she did not. She stood still like a statue, eyes locked with his, feeling the sensation of recognition as she stared into his dark eyes.

A sound from behind caused her to turn and look at the edge of the forest. A man stood utterly motionless on the ice. His face was not visible from the shade of the hood on his dark cloak, over which, he wore a vest of chainmail. Standing with his arms raised, he held a bow, the string stretched taut, the arrow aimed directly at the stag.

Gasping, she turned back to the beast, watching him grow more agitated. Snorting and huffing, dipping his head, he bucked the ice with the tips of his antlers. Rearing up on his hind legs, he slammed his hooves down, a sharp crack sounded, followed by the groan of shifting ice.

Looking back to the hooded man, Aethelswith saw that his stance had not changed. She turned back to the stag who slammed his front hooves a second time, grunting an angry groan while the ice beneath cracked further.

"No," she cried to the animal. "Be still. Please."

Turning back to the man at the edge of the forest, she called out.

"Do not do this. Let him live. I beg you."

The bow and arrow held steady and the head of the hooded man turned to look at her dead on. There was no face, only a void of black. Slowly looking back to the stag, his hand on the string pulled.

"No!" Aethelswith screamed, stepping forward to run. With arms raised in the air, she was knocked sharply in the chest, falling forward to her knees.

Mouth open and eyes wide, she made no sound, somehow unable to scream. Reaching up, she touched her chest, feeling the embedded arrow, the pain hot like fire, stabbing through her. Gazing down, she realized she was wearing her white marital dress, soaked in deep red blood. Falling forward onto her hands, the crimson drops pooled on the surface of the ice looking nearly black.

A loud crack rang through the silence followed by a squeal as the stag broke through the frozen lake, crashing into the cold water below. Frothing at the mouth and breath heaving, he thrashed violently in the water, his eyes wild, as he fought, unable to lift his front hooves above the thick edge.

She could do nothing, only watch as he grunted frantically, struggling in the frigid water. After sometime, and her still unable to move, his movements slowed as exhaustion and cold set in. Beginning to tire, he caught his chin on the edge of the broken ice, his head and antlers the only parts visible above the freezing water. Snorting, his cries quieted and his groans became weak and even at a distance, she could see the fear drain from his dark, round eyes.

"I will not leave you," she whispered, slumping onto her side, lowering her cheek to the ice below. The cold bit at her skin as she lay helplessly watching the beautiful stag slip away, down into the darkness, until he was completely gone.

"I am sorry," she whispered, closing her eyes, listening to footsteps coming toward her, crunching over the fresh snow.

—

"My Lady?"

A hand shook her shoulder and she startled awake. Lifting her cheek from his skin, her eyes worked to adjust to the dim tent now lit by burning candles. It was night.

Immediately looking at Ivar, she could see, even in the dull light, small rounds of colour in the center of his cheeks, his lips now a light shade of pink. Shifting her lower limbs, she could feel that his legs were cold but not frozen as they had been.

Brana was bending over her speaking in a soft voice and Aethelswith rubbed her face, attempting to clear the fog of her dream.

"My Lady, come eat something. Please." She motioned with her hands to the table.

"The stones... can we change them?" she asked instead.

"We did not long ago. We will again soon."

"Thank you."

"My lady, you must drink something. Water? Shall I bring it to you here?"

"Yes, thank you." Aethelswith swallowed realizing how dry she felt.

Pulling away from Ivar, she sat up, the cold air on her bare arms and shoulders causing her to shiver. She wanted to return to his side under the blankets.

Taking the cup from Brana, she drank quickly, emptying it and handed it back with an appreciative nod. Her eyes returned to him, studying his features and listening to the sound of his breathing.

"Did he wake?" she looked back up to Brana.

"He stirred but did not wake."

"His legs?" she asked.

"They are better than his toes," Brana replied evenly. "A healer will likely need to remove them."

Shaking her head, Aethelswith breathed out slowly.

"But he lives,” Brana touched her arm, giving her a smile. "Thanks to you."

Aethelswith turned to look at her. "No Brana, thanks to you."

With a flat smile, Brana nodded back.

"Would you like me to collect more furs and make up your bed?"

"I will stay here," Aethelswith replied, shimmying back down beside him, pulling the blankets back up to cover them both. Resting her face back against his chest, she wrapped her arm over is now warm stomach and her leg over his. He lives, she thought, as she closed her eyes and allowed the smell of his skin and steady breathing to carry her back off to sleep.

—

In the suspended space between dreams and the reality of the present, his body felt adrift and behind his closed eyes flickered images of her heart-shaped face. Aethelswith....

In the distance and filtering through were the sounds of muted voices and the morning calls of birds announcing a new day, as if it were like any other, but above all, there was one faint, repetitive sound that drew him in like an arrow hitting straw. It was her…. her soft, sweet breathing, so close, it sounded as if it were inside him. On top of that, the delicate scent of roses and the warmth he felt against his one side drew him up toward to the surface, his skin even ahead of his mind knowing that she lay draped over him, asleep.

He did not dare move or crack open an eye, even wince from the pain that felt like flames searing his feet and legs. He just lay still and like fitting together the jagged pieces of something broken, his mind worked, struggled, to recount the events that placed her in his arms. The images, although fractured; cracking the reigns, driving his skittish horse over the frozen lake, his eyes fixed on the tree line, anxious to return before dark were all that remained of his black memory.

Whatever had occurred, it was surely the Gods who had placed her in his bed, placed her tiny body to his, her perfect face to the skin of his chest. Some reward or distraction from the pain that, by the breath, was growing unbearable. Yet he would bear it...bear it or risk unsettling what he was unable to fully believe could be true - that she was there by his side giving him his first taste of peace. 

\----

She woke to the feeling of a heavy arm around her, squeezing, a large hand on her lower back radiating heat. Ivar cleared his throat and Aethelswith’s head shot up and she looked at his closed eyes, his brows creased together as he began to cough and hack as if his lungs were being used for the first time. Instinctively, her hand slid higher to rest on his smooth, muscular chest like somehow her touch could soothe him. And, it seemed to.

Shifting away, she turned toward the edge of his bed and pushed herself up as his arm, still around her, tensed, his hand stopping her, holding her in place. She could feel the tips of each of his fingers pressing into to the soft skin above her hip like they, somehow on their own, had discovered that her thin, sheer slip was the only barrier.

Sucking in a breath, she turned back and looked at his questioning face, his eyes open just enough to see out. He somehow looked older and so, so weak, like he had been walking with death while the heavens were deciding whether to take him. Their eyes stayed locked but neither said a word. She felt confronted, conflicted, but above all grateful that he was awake and she was there.

“Stay,” he tried to whisper but it came out as a rasp. His eyes opened wider in what she thought looked like a wordless plea.

“I must go…” she heard herself whisper but realized she was already lowering herself back down toward him, her body not giving her mind a moment to object. Nudging closer, she carefully lay her cheek against his warm skin, her hand finding its place on his chest. 

And there they stayed, under the sloped ceiling of their canvas life, their bodies easing and their breathing falling into rhythm and with every slow exhale, all regard for the world beyond faded away. Together, they again surrendered to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This alternate ending picks up at Chapter 14 of part one, Ease The Dawn.

The sound of someone pushing through the flap caused him to crack open his eyes. And, the brightness in the tent made it clear that they had slept well into the day. He gulped and gritted his teeth at the immediate strike of pain in his lower half, still not understanding what had happened.

Not even the delicate frame of a beautiful princess tucked against his side, softly sleeping with her hand on his chest could diminish the ache radiating up the backs of his legs and spine.

Beyond the foot of the bed, Brana moved about the tent with purpose, unloading bowls of some sort of food before adding wood to the stove and picking up and folding dropped items of clothing.

Through the lashes of his barely open eyes, he watched her approach the bed and stop. She looked unphased by their intimate position and he wondered how long they had been that way.

“My lady,” Brana whispered and Ivar’s eyes flashed open, glaring an unspoken warning that she best not continue.

Straightening, Brana pressed her lips together and averted her gaze, not acknowledging that she had seen. He knew she had.

“My lady,” she repeated in a stronger voice causing Aethelswith to stir and lift her head and look back over her shoulder.

Without thought, Ivar’s arm tightened around her.

“Brana,” Aethelswith mumbled, her voice sounding heavy from sleep.

“My lady, I am sorry to disturb you but it is mid-day and Prince Hvitserk will be here soon with the healer,” she motioned with her hand toward them, “to check on Prince Ivar... I thought you might not...”

“Thank you, Brana,” Aethelswith interrupted before looking back at Ivar, stilling instantly at the sight of him. His face was hard and his eyelids fluttered as he looked away toward the far side of the tent. He seemed unable or unwilling to look at her and she was hit with some sort of pang in her chest…but words escaped her. What could she say? This was Ivar she was lying next to. Searching his face, she saw his nostrils flare and the small muscles beneath the skin of his jaw flex and she knew that the thawing of his body was only the start of his pain. Without thought, she reached up and stroked the hair back from his forehead and he flinched, glancing back for only an instant.

Pulling her hand away, she was no longer confused by her reaction. All sense of relief or worry or even gratefulness was gone. She was embarrassed. Shamed that she had put herself in such a compromising position and it was apparent she had acted with some false sense of familiarity. And, the weight of his arm around her, holding her, only added mud to the waters of her thinking. Was he frozen with discomfort finding her in his bed, she wondered? Was he holding her in place to keep her from seeing his body? Or... did he want her there but was unable to say those words?

As if sensing the shift, Brana turned on her heel and headed straight out of the tent.

Aside from Aethelswith, Ivar had never experienced any form of closeness with anyone. Had never shared or confided in anyone but her. In that moment, he knew he was injured, he knew he was lying bear beside her but he was lost, dumbfounded, as to what to say and what had transpired. He felt weak, stripped of his armour, his pride, and in a position of uncertainty.

Barely turning his head, he forced himself to look at her and searched her eyes, attempting to identify her thoughts. Was she pitying him, he wondered? Caring for him like a healer would an invalid? His distaste for sympathy was quickly diluting his desperation to keep her near. For the first time since he first laid eyes on her, he did not know how to be. He had no control.

Blinking, he broke their eye contact and exhaled, looking back up toward the ceiling. The weight and agony of his injuries continued to slowly, flood through his body.

Releasing his hold on her, he stared up at the sloped canvas, listening to her rise from the bed and slip into her green robe. He fought to keep his eyes from glancing over.

Turning back, Aethelswith waited, watching his face at it continued to tighten. Even in the early days, when first dragged into the camp, she had never felt the confusion she did now. At least then it was blatant that he was the enemy and she was the captive. Standing there, awkwardly, beside his bed, not even that fact brought her clarity.

“I will not be long,” she whispered.

“I need nothing from you,” his gravelly-voice rasped back. He did not even look at her.

\----

Wrapped in a warm cloak and sitting on a stool in the tent used for cooking, Aethelswith fiddled with her spoon and bowl of warm oats that she had no appetite for. Every few moments, her soft blue eyes flicked up to Brana who was, for once, sitting and sipping hot water from a mug. Gazing out the opening of the tent, Brana periodically glanced over at the princess. The silence between them was thick and Aethelswith felt too insecure to leave it be.

“You must think...” Aethelswith started...

“I think nothing,” Brana cut her off causing Aethelswith to look up from her oatmeal.

At that, Brana’s eyes softened and she tipped her head forward, “It is not my place to….”

“Oh, stop that!” Aethelswith rushed, placing her bowl down on the table, not hiding her frustration. “Please tell me,” she continued. “I am so used to being told what to do and...how to be...and....who to be.. just,” she shook her head, “tell me.”

Sighing, Brana peeked out the partially open flap as if checking that Gussr or anyone else was not standing by.

“You must take care,” Brana looked back, lifting her defined dark brows to emphasize her point.

“In what way?” Aethelswith asked already knowing the answer.

“Take care that you are not stepping out of the shadow of one violent man and into the shadow of another.”

Aethelswith’s gaze faltered but she said nothing and would not allow herself to look away.

“Do you hear me?” Brana pushed.

“I was only trying to help,” she uttered under her breath, hating how foolish she sounded. “What would become of me if he died?”

Brana leaned closer, “My lady, what will become of you now that he lives?”


End file.
